


Drunken Ficlet: Broader Horizons

by greywash



Series: Drunken!ficlets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Drunken!ficlet, archived from Tumblr. Unbeta'ed and un-Britpicked, as always.</em>
</p>
<p><strong>Anonymous requested</strong>: lestrade and anyone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Ficlet: Broader Horizons

Irene squeezes the back of his neck, and Greg shivers, toes clenching up in against the bottoms of his feet, and he—he really can't remember how he ended up here, but Irene is murmuring, "Now, love, come on, I think he's ready," and Molly laughs, low and delighted, and slides down onto her elbows, licking down over the small of Greg's back and his tailbone and _oh_ —oh, that's—that's really not sanitary, but Molly is doing it anyway, and Greg groans and drops his face down against one smooth, warm knee, shoving his arse back against Molly's tongue.

"Fun," Molly says, a little muffled, and slides a slick—how? where?—finger into him, and—oh, Jesus, that's—she was, her hands, she had three of those fingers _inside Irene_ , and oh, okay, that's hot, and God, it's so easy, he—it shouldn't be that easy, should it? It should be—it should be hard, he's positive it should be _tricky_ , he's certain he's the only straight bloke in history who's spent all of ten seconds going from zero to sixty, but of course Molly has small, friendly hands, still slick with Irene— _Jesus_ —and her—her tongue is warm and wet and oh, God, he—

"I really haven't ever done this before," he gasps, as she slides another finger in and he clenches around her, and Anthea tugs at his hair until he looks up at her, blurring with each insistent pulse of his blood, and he tries to look at her face and not her breasts— _God_ , her breasts are amazing, they're—and Anthea smiles at him, lopsided and interested, focused, _for fucking once_ , and says, "Irene, can Molly borrow your harness?"


End file.
